In Her Sleep
by girlparanormal
Summary: "Actually, the things you appear in are more akin to fantasies," he says, and he smiles for a beat like a devil as she blushes, but it fades quickly and the look he sets her with sobers her. "More often than that, you show up in my nightmares."


If this is something anyone likes, let me know, I may consider writing an actual ending.

* * *

**It starts in her sleep.**

Before she realizes what's happening, she sees colors blurred around her. Lush green of the forest and pale white, which takes her a minute to identify as skin. She feels something smooth spill out under her spreading fingers and smells something strong and sweet. She can't move and she can't find her tongue to speak. She is completely sensory.

Pressing in on her stomach, she feels her heart beat thump in heavy tandem with the movements happening inside of her, on top of her. She tries to take a deep breath but she breathes in that _smell_, so thick, stuffing her throat and making her feel like she's suffocating.

The heaviness is bearing down on her heart and her stomach and she feels something, something moving inside of her, a person, a lover, she realizes what is happening, she opens her mouth to let out a noise, something, a plea or a moan but the golden circles in front of her stop her in her place. They're all she can see.

Eyes, hybrid eyes. Moving finally comes to her, and she brings her legs up and around the man on top of her, _Tyler_, crosses one ankle over top of the other behind his back and presses into him with a sigh as he moves, pulls from her and slams back to her body. Pressure, heat, _something incredible_ is building inside of her stomach, in her gut, where his body meets hers so intimately, in and out and weaving a pattern that's creeping inside of her mind, from her core and up her lungs and into her heart like vines. Like weeds.

Heat is on her face, breath, a whisper, his lips pressing in to the corner of hers, so close to her mouth that she could swallow what he's about to say, but what she hears makes her blood turn cold.

_Does is feel better than you'd have dreamed it, love?_

Her eyes shoot open and she's out of bed in a millasecond. Standing, staring at the heap of blankets and pillows like they were the offending factor. Like they were the cause of that (fantasy) _nightmare_. She shakes her head to try to clear it, she can still feel the pressure of his skin on hers, still feel the movement deep inside of her. _What the hell? Why was I dreaming of _him_?_ She scolds herself as if she could have stopped it, tells herself it's his fault for always being around, crowding her and invading her space and now her subconscious, but it's also partly her fault for letting him get to her. _No more,_ she tells herself, _this'll be the only time this happens._ She straightens her tank top and resigns herself to avoiding thinking of him even more than she (already has to push him from her brain) already does. Deep breaths don't shake the feeling from her body and no amount of denial can remove the smell of her _need _from the sheets.

...

When the doors of the Grille swing open later that day and she can _smell_ him walk in (the sweet, strong, deep scent from her dream) she waits until she hears him by the bar ordering a drink before she skirts a wide path to the door and hurries out without ever lifting her eyes from the floor.

...

Later that night in the bath, her thoughts wander back into the small corner lockbox of her mind that she's shoved and hidden everything marked 'Klaus,' threatening to pick apart the implications of the dream. She slides swiftly down the back of the tub and slams herself fully submerged into the water.

_Drowning is a horrible thought, _she thinks, and opens her burning eyes to see the blurred pink ceiling of the bathroom.

She remembers once when she was a little girl, before her mom and dad split up, when they were still all living in a big house by the high school - jumping into their backyard pool in the middle of an October night, on a dare from Matt. Elena was with her, jumping beside her, as they landed and cut through the deep blue cloth covering the pool. Straight to the bottom Caroline sank, she remembers it being so cold that her muscles hurt when she tried to swim, but she did, right to the surface that was completely covered. Elena made it out _(she always would, _she realizes) but Caroline stayed down too long, thrashing and held down by the pool cover, could barely hear Matt and Elena yelling in panic, until her mother jumped in - with all of her clothes on - to save her. The image of her mother in the dark of the moonlight, soaked but barely shivering and yelling at Matt and Elena is something she'll never ever forget. (No matter how many centuries she's "alive.") But her mother and she don't talk anymore, and she's always busy with work and with bringing about justice and _helping people who actually need it_ and because Caroline is self-sufficient (and too far past helping) in her mother's eyes.

_Who would jump in fully clothed and rescue me now? _She asks herself. But she knows the answer before the question is fully formed, the image burning in front of her vision and bringing tears to the back of her eyes.

_Drowning would be terrible_, _almost as bad as buried alive_. Trapped and helpless and held down and suffocating and_ breathless._ She releases the breath held in her lungs, blowing up toward the surface in bubbles. The thought of no breath and no oxygen and suffocation horrifies her and makes her heart sink and maybe, she thinks she's more afraid of not having control and being caged than the actual act of drowning.

Her stomach is sunken, all the stored up breath gone, and she wonders not for the first time, _Do I even need to breathe? Do vampires require oxygen to live? And if not, what would drowning feel like?_

She whips up out of the water with splashing and gasping before she decides she wants to know the answer.

When she's combing her wet hair in the soft glow from the lamp on her vanity, she closes her eyes and wills her mind away from last night, imagines scrubbing the surface of her brain spotless, free from him so that maybe her dreams won't be contaminated by the thought of him.

...

It doesn't work.

...

When she wakes the third night in a row of having the dream, it's without panic, but full of anger and a little sadness. The sting of his fingers gripping her hips is still there, the pressure and buzz as her nerves alight inside of her, leaving such an emptiness that she whines out into the dark of her bedroom. After a few seconds, the sting doesn't fade and she yanks down her sheets to investigate, stops short when she sees the crescent shapes of her own fingernails in the side of her legs, blood on the sheets and the marks already healing themselves. The sight, the pain, doesn't snuff the heat in her body. She considers reaching her hand down to satisfy whatever _lacking_ the dream has left behind, but shoves her head under her pillow before she gives in. She doesn't get any sleep that night.

...

As soon as the sun has been up and blazing heat through the blinds for a few hours, and the clock on her wall reads 10:00, her phone is in her hand and Elena's number is dialed.

"Hello, Caroline." The way she says it sounds so accusatory and like - _expecting Caroline to be nagging and bossing already._ Anger rips through Caroline's chest and she almost hangs up on Elena, but remembers the red streaks of blood on the sheets and forces herself to take a deep breath.

"Hey," she drags the syllable out. "Do you wanna do something today? Anything? I feel like I'm-" _losing my mind_, Caroline thinks, but what she says is, "I just need to get out for a while."

"Well.." She says, and she pauses. Caroline can hear Stefan's voice in the background, "I'm kinda busy. Damon and Stefan finally bought A/C for the boarding house, but they're having some trouble actuallygetting it to _work_."

"I can help!" Caroline says, clinging to the thought of getting out of her house and her mind cleared.

She already is up out of bed and pulling on a t-shirt and jeans when Elena says, "Do you know anything about this stuff?"

"Well... no, but I have Google, and a can-do attitude," she jokes, laughing to herself and already feeling partly better as she gathers her curls on top of her head in a ponytail.

"Come on over," she says and a loud bang sounds from her end of the conversation, "Caroline, I have to go," and then click, but Caroline is already in her car and pulling out of her driveway. She pulls her sunglasses over her eyes to block the hot sun and turns the radio on. She feels better already.

...

It doesn't last.

By the time noon hits, the sun is even hotter beating through the windows, and they're no closer to making the air conditioning work. Somewhere between Damon kicking a dent into the side of the unit (causing it to come loose from the wall, and Stefan insists somebody hold it up as long as Elena's around so that she doesn't get hurt. _Human_, Caroline sometimes forgets) and Elena pulling out her phone to check the temperature - _97 degrees_ - Caroline changes into her the spare shorts she keeps in her car for cheerleading practice. Elena's on her knees in front of the A/C unit, jamming her fingers at buttons while Caroline leans above her, holding it precariously in place when the doorbell rings. Frustration is thick in the air.

"That'd be the pizza," Damon says and disappears into the foyer.

Caroline is soaked in sweat and arguing with Elena when she hears Damon say, "_You_. Oh, well, what's a day in hell without Satan himself?"

Before she hears him respond, before she smells that smell coming off of him, she knows who it is. Her back stiffens and she almost pulls her hands from the air conditioner, but it creaks when she does and what is she going to do anyway, _run out of there_? She thinks it doesn't sound so bad.

"I think you're referring to Lucifer, mate, who - if you recall - was God's favorite angel, before he fell." His voice was closer but she couldn't tell for sure because she kept her eyes shut tight, wishing she could be invisible. Her eyes open when she hears him say, "Hello, Caroline."

If he's shocked to see her in such small amount of clothing, or absolutely _soaked _in sweat, or with her bare legs about two inches from Elena's face, he doesn't show it. He's as composed as ever. She thinks she may hate him.

"What do you want, Klaus?" Stefan says, stepping forward and crossing his arms over his chest. Caroline is thankful she doesn't have time to respond to him.

"Might I have a word, mate?" Klaus is speaking to Stefan but Caroline can feel his eyes on her. She stares straight ahead. Stefan follows Klaus outside - out of earshot - and for a moment, Caroline can breathe. She feels the familiar pressure on her chest - _trapped_ - and shakes her head to try to clear it.

A few minutes pass. Elena keeps fiddling with the machinery in front of them and Damon pours himself a drink. Eventually, Klaus and Stefan step back through the door, and Caroline doesn't miss the look between Stefan and Damon, the _I'll fill you in later _look.

Klaus steps forward with his hands clasped behind his back, looking thoughtful, "Maybe I can be of some assistance," he says, reaching out toward Caroline and toward the broken unit, and all the images from the last few nights rush into her vision, him moving in and out of her, leaning down and smoothing his hands out on her flesh. Caroline freezes, and then all at once, she snaps away from him and away from the A/C, it creaks and lurches forward. Elena screams, but Klaus is there to pull her out from underneath it before she's crushed.

The piece of machinery lay in a broken heap of gray metal parts on the floor.

She hears them angry, hears "Caroline!" and "She coulda been killed!" and "What the hell, Blondie?" but all she can see is this look, _this look_, in Klaus's eyes as he holds Elena, still on the ground, partly accusing, partly offended, and then it shifts into something. Triumph. Glee. He knows he's affecting her and that is the _last _thing to make this horrible day even worse.

She doesn't even say sorry before she flashes out of there.

...

She doesn't go home, she goes to the forest, far enough out so that nobody can hear her scream.

...

She goes looking for him and finds him at the Grille.

He's sitting at a booth in the corner by himself with a drink on the table in front of him, something dark, maybe whiskey or rum, the ice in the glass melting faster than usual. It's just as hot today as it was the day before, and even being inside in the air conditioning, she feels like she's breathing in bathwater when she inhales because the air is so humid and thick. _Drowning,_ she thinks, but steers her head clear of it. She sits down before she's asked and starts talking before he gets a chance to.

"Do you ever have dreams?" She says, "When you get as ANCIENT as you, do you even have the ability to form dreams?" What Caroline meant to say, was, _'When _I _get as ancient as you.'_

If he's surprised by her line of questioning, he doesn't show it. He never shows it. In fact, she's starting to think that nothing surprises him, or at least, that he's prepared for every which way a situation could possibly go. That he has maps and maps of lifetime decisions planned out in his head. Every _worst case scenario_ accounted for. I guess you don't live a thousand-plus years with millions of enemies and still come out on top by letting unexpectedness get the best of you.

"Ah," he says, both of his hands gripping the glass in front of him, "Does this have something to do with you acting so strangely yesterday?"

He looks up at her and smiles. A funny thing happens in her chest, and then she starts to feel sick. "I wasn't acting _weird_, I just don't like you."

He leans forward then and in unison, she leans back and away, "Well, love, if you're having dreams about me, I'd have to say otherwise."

It takes her a second to respond, and she almost denies it, but he's looking at her with those eyes, and smiling that smile, _that fucking sinister smile_, and those dimples are screaming at her and his hands clasped together on his drink and the heavy heat in the room, and it's too much.

She almost denies it, but can't bring herself to lie.

"Don't do the _thing_." She says, her eyes narrowing and her head tilting forward slightly.

"The thing? What is 'the thing'?" He looks genuinely confused for a second and it is adorable.

"The thing, the-" she does her best English accent, which is too somber and sounds slightly like the Ghost of Christmas Past "'_I can show you beautiful places and great art, Caroline'_ thing. That thing."

"Was that supposed to be me?" He says, and he's laughing and looking so young and happy and _ugh. So un-Klaus-like._ Caroline's heart hurts. The angry look she shoots him gets him to swallow his laughter, but it's barely off his face.

"So, do you?" She asks.

"Do I what?"

"Do you dream!" She says, too loud and frustrated. The waitress on her way over to the table does a complete 180 and heads back toward the kitchen. She tries not to sigh.

"Yes," is all he says, and then stares at her. There's a long beat between them while he looks into her eyes, his face doesn't give any hints to what he's thinking. _Don't make me ask, _she thinks, willing him to continue. But he doesn't, and so she says-

"Do you.. ever dream of _me_?"

She can barely believe she had the guts to actually come out and ask him, but then again, she wasn't Miss Mystic Falls, Homecoming Queen, head of several committees and on her way to becoming valedictorian because of her shyness.

"Actually, the things you appear in are more akin to fantasies," he says, and he smiles for a beat like a devil as she blushes, but it fades quickly and the look he sets her with sobers her. "More often than that, you show up in my nightmares."

She considers what he means by that. He's not afraid of her, and he doesn't hate her, she knows these for facts. Is he.. afraid of _losing her_? That can't be it, because he doesn't even have her. (She stops herself from thinking _yet_.) Is he afraid of the way she makes him feel? She takes a breath to steady herself because the dark floor feels like it's rising to meet her, and when she closes her eyes, it feels like the room is spinning. Nightmares?

Her stomach feels sick and he must notice because he reaches out his hand to rest lightly on hers across the table and suddenly she doesn't feel so dizzy. She begins to be able to breathe.

"My 'fantasies' _are_ my nightmares," she says and pulls her hand from his, not caring if he understands what she means.

_My fantasies are my nightmares... or maybe it's the other way around._

_..._

This time, it's different. This time, she can see everything. She can feel everything. She doesn't panic as he leans down toward her in the glow from the sun, with light glinting off of the short curls on his head. He's moving inside of her, so deep and forceful and _hard_, his hand wraps around the back of her neck, pulling her to meet him for a kiss. Heat explodes inside of her. The nerves along her skin are on fire. His other hand moves down to touch where they meet, and she can feel herself getting close.

This time, when she wakes up (regretfully), she doesn't stop herself from finishing what the dream started.


End file.
